…In Pursuit of Apples…

Rainy day entertainment is not Tristran's forté. Unfortunately, certain residents of the Wall disagree.

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"No."

Tristran scowled menacingly at the half-circle of pleading faces surrounding him. Show them no weakness, he reminded himself. One chink in your armour, and they'll be on you like a pack of rabid wolves.

"Please, Tristran. We'll do anything for you, you're the best one. Normally we ask Arthur, but…"

"I'm not doing it," repeated Tristran irritably, looking around for an escape route. Curses. He was surrounded.

"What if there was something in it for you?" squeaked a voice somewhere off to his left. Tristran's stomach clenched in dread. Gods, they've bought reinforcements. Sure enough, more pale faces crowded around him, all stamped with that horrifying look of… happiness and innocence.

How he hated children.

"I refuse to play hide-and-seek with you," he said firmly, trying to be the adult in the situation. "Surely you have something better to do. Go and… groom one another."

"We're not horses, Uncle Tristran!" piped up a small woman-ling, giggling unbearably. The hideous tittering spread like a plague, gradually filling the room with noise. Combined with the sound of the drumming rain, the shouts of men from the tavern, and the raucous laughter of some nearby Roman guards, Tristran thought he'd run screaming into the forest, thunderstorm or no thunderstorm.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Go and play with Gawain's hair. He likes that." At least, he seemed to like it when the tavern wenches toyed with his leonine locks. Vain idiot.

He was met with a chorus of, "No, he's not here", "No, he's boring" and, "No, we love you, Uncle Tristran". Smothering the faint hint of warmth the last statement gave him – the diminutive creatures were probably lying, anyway – he tried to ignore them as they petted his hair and tried to climb into his lap.

"If you play five rounds with us, we'll tell you where Mummy's secret apple stash is," lisped one pale-haired child, staring up at him with disconcertingly trusting eyes. "Five knows where it is."

Tristran groaned. "Two."

"Yes?" called a voice at the back of the throng.

"No, damn you, I'll play two rounds," grumbled Tristran, cursing Bors and Vanora's inability to properly name their offspring. "But show me where the apples are first." He'd been searching for Vanora's secret stash for ages, and despite his impressive scouting abilities, it had remained elusive. Until now.

"No, play first and then we'll show you," called one of the older monsters, grinning cockily.

"And we said five rounds, not two," said another, tracing Tristran's tattoos in a most irksome manner.

"Three," replied Tristran, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, Unc…"

"Shut up. Three rounds."

"Four and a half," called a scruffy-looking one defiantly.

"Three and a half," spat Tristran threateningly.

"Four," replied Scruffy, undaunted.

Tristran scowled, sensing defeat. "Agreed," he said at last, putting a hand over his eyes as the room erupted with cheers. His oppressors surged forward in a great mass, all trying to hug him, or display some other repulsive emotional response to his acquiescence.

"Four…five…six…" Tristran raised his voice, struggling to make himself heard over the squealing and giggling. Gods, this was worse than spending a week on patrol with Galahad. "You stupid mongrels, I'm counting!" he growled, shaking them off his arms and legs. The children screamed with delight as he scattered them hither, thither and yon.

Tristran felt the beginnings of a roaring headache building in his temples.

Rainy days were absolute hell.

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Vanora leant on the counter of the bar and sighed, pointing over to where the Fort's raggedy bunch of children swarmed over Tristran, yelling and shouting joyfully.

"Look at the little sweet'earts," she sighed, pouring a drink for Arthur as he sat at one of the stools. The commander watched the scout playing with the children, a smile twitching at the corners of his stern lips.

"He loves children," he said as he took a sip of the ale. As they watched, Tristran tripped over and was promptly buried by a leaping, jumping group of Vanora's children.

"Listen to him laughing," sighed Vanora happily.

"It sounds like he's sobbing, actually," said Arthur, looking concerned for a moment. Vanora waved his worries away.

"Nah, nah. He's loving it, and the kids are having the time of their lives. Just look at them chasing each other around!"

Arthur nodded, smiling into his mug. Thank the gods they've found someone else to pester about playing hide-and-seek. He almost laughed out loud as the scout lifted up one of the younger children and… threw them across the room? Ah, well. Tristran had always possessed a more… violent… sense of fun than any of the other Knights.

"I've heard it's going to rain for the rest of the week," remarked Vanora, as they watched the children lock Tristran into a nearby cupboard, shrieking with glee (the children, not Tristran). "Thank goodness the children have a playmate, now. Do you think Tristran would agree to look after them? He doesn't have anything else to do, does he?

Arthur shook his head. "An excellent idea, Vanora. I'll inform him of his new duties tonight."

From within the dark confines of the kitchen cupboard, Tristran let out a cry of pure horror.